After dinner, I walk to the cliff to watch the molasses and lavender sky. Most evenings, the sun only sets around nine at night. Tonight, I sit on a large rock and resume my pity party.
I hear a sound and look up. Diago is looking down at me, his eyes brimming with questions, a shawl in his hand. A shawl - his thoughtfulness bring a lump to my throat. I move up and he accepts my nonverbal invitation to sit next to me. Without a word, he drapes the shawl around my shoulders and draws me to him.
Under normal circumstances I might stiffen at his touch, but right now, I have a need to be held and without a thought, I nestle into him. There’s this familiar smell of tobacco, coupled with the scent of his aftershave, which he now wears everyday – that’s comforting today.
Feeling warm and safe, I rest my head on his chest. We sit like this for about an hour in silence, watching the sunset. The beast, the animal, the devil who shot me three times and threw me over the cliff is comforting me, while my so called family and friends, who I sacrificed my life for, are planning an enormous party for my only nephew without me. Irony can be so, well, ironical.
Finally, it’s time to go. He stands up and holds out of his arm to me. I silently take it and we walk hand-in-hand to the ranch. After a while, I hold his arm with both of mine.
‘Gracias,’ I whisper outside my door.
He smiles, tips my nose with his index finger and leaves. I’m thankful that he’s not taking advantage of my vulnerability and asking to come in.
* * *
To forget my family and to avoid thinking of the upcoming Christening, I busy myself by learning a myriad of things. Dabbling, more like it.
First: how to ride a horse. Not just riding, but kick-ass riding. Like Santana - after watching her skilfully handle a horse and how amazing she looks when she rides, I secretly want to ride like her and perhaps eventually outshine her as a rider. Fat chance of that, but a girl can dream, right?
Diablo approaches me. ‘So, you want to ride?’
‘Yeah …well, I’m kinda learn …’
‘Ride then. What is stopping you?’
‘Eh, like, I’m a bit scared of horses?’
He snorts. ‘Scared? You? I show you then.’
A short while later, our lesson begins. It doesn’t go down too well, because he’s an expert rider, having ridden since he was six and an impatient teacher, refusing to accept my self-imposed limitations.
‘Is easy, see?’
‘Wait Diago!’ I shout when he shoves me onto the horse. ‘I’m scared, remember?’
He pushes me harder. ‘Pretend you have a glass of Vodka iiiin your hands and you don’t want to spiiiill it, si? That’s how you hold the reins, si?’
That gets me. I don’t want to spill any vodka whatsoever, so I perfect the holding of the reins in no time.
He slaps his chest and says, ‘Puuush this forward, si?’
I thrust my breasts forward and elicit a chuckle out of him. ‘I can do that, see?’
And just like that, I’m riding and loving it. But I’m nowhere as good as Santana. And when Santana sees me learning how to ride, she get on her horse and begins showing off. I don’t want to look stupid so I immediately quit whenever she’s around.
* * *
Shooting fascinates me. I’m going to work in Law Enforcement one day, so that fascination comes in handy. I’m watching the men shoot clay pigeons. The men are good, but Diago is excellent and when he sees me watching, he shows of and hits more targets. When he catches my eye, I raise my eyebrows and nod. He smiles and flicks his index finger at me.
I shake my head, but he insists, so I amble over.
‘Try,’ he says, handing me the shotgun.
‘I don’t ...’
‘Do it!!’
I sigh and aim the rifle. ‘I’ve never fired a gun ...’
‘Pull!!’ Diago shouts and a clay pigeon is released.
I fire and miss my target. Everyone laughs. Then Diago stands behind me, holds my arms and guides me. By my third attempt, I hit my target and scream with joy. ‘Did you see that Diago? Did you see that?’
‘Pull!’ he yells.
I had no idea I could be so energised by this sport and under Diago’s supervision, I become fairly good at it.
‘When I’m happy, I shoot,’ Diago says, pushing away the shotgun I’m pointing at his face. ‘When I’m sad, I shoot.’
‘Christ Diago, you’d better be talking about clay pigeons,’ I say, handing him the gun.
He grins and squeezes my waist. ‘Walk with me.’
‘Okay,’ I say, ‘let’s go swimming. I feel like some company.’
‘No.’
‘Why not? You taught me to ride and shoot, so I’ll teach you how to swim.’
He shakes his head but continues walking with me towards the rock pool.
When we get to the pool, I wade in and test the water. ‘It’s lovely. Come on in Diago.’
‘No.’
I swim on for a while then stop. ‘Come on in.’
‘No.’
‘Come on, you big baby.’
Muttering under his breath, he finally wades in.
I notice he can swim, but he appears uncomfortable in water.
‘See?’ I say, splashing him a little. ‘Isn’t so bad.’
I’m happy that he’s in and I give him a few pointers on safety in the water. Then I show of a little and when I was sure he’s impressed, we goof around then talk.
‘Tell me ’bout Payton,’ he says.
‘Eh …okay ... what you wanna know? Tell you what – let’s play the question-for-a-question game again, okay? You first.’
He nods. ‘Where’s your mother?’ he asks, locking eyes with me.
So Marcus has told him everything.
‘She died when I was six. The same age you were when your mother died, right?’
He nods slowly. ‘You know a lot about me eh?’
‘Sure do. My turn – what’s your mother’s name?’
‘Selina,’ he says in a malleable voice. ‘She was preeetty,’ he adds, a melancholy look in his eyes. Then he looks up. ‘My turn?’
I nod. ‘Your turn.’
‘Why do you like Him?’
‘Diago! You asked me that before. You always ask me that. What’s with this ... this obsession, huh?’
‘How long you go out with Him?’
I sigh. ‘’bout a year. My turn.’
‘Uh huh. Do you miss him? Do you luuuve his baby because is his baby? Why you like him so much? Why your voice is soft when you talk about him?’
‘Diago, that’s ...’ I pause to count, ‘that’s five questions. And my answers are: Yes, No, I don’t know, No, that’s not true.’
My answer baffles him and I laugh and splash him again.
‘How old are you, Diago?’
‘Thirty.’
‘Thirty! Man you’re old. Ancient!’ He looks and acts a lot older. I thought he was about fifty.
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty one.’
‘Twenty one?’
I nod.
We stay in the water and talk and answer questions for about an hour and during this time, I find out a lot about him, even venturing into some of the things Maria and Rosa talked about. Our candid conversation makes me feel closer and connected to him and I suspect he feels the same.
‘But now, you’re in the water,’ I say, ‘so that means you’ve conquered your fear of water.’
He looks around, sees how far we are in the water and frowns. ‘Si …’
‘That’s fantastic, right?’
‘Si. But that’s nuff and I want to get out.’ He jerks his head towards the ranch.
‘Okay, but I’ll race you out the water.’
‘Ah, a game,’ he says, his eyes lighting up. ‘You know I don’t swim like you, but okay. Now, the winner ...?’
‘Well ... if I win ... you take the day off tomorrow and spend it with me – a picnic.’ I can’t believe I’m asking for that, but I’m having such a nice time with him, I want it to continue tomorrow.
‘I can’t do that. Imaverbusyman.’
‘Aw come on. You need some fun in your life.’
He appears thoughtful. Then he looks directly at me. ‘If I win ... if I win ...’ His eyes are sparkling, ‘You …you …come to my … bed.’
Whoa! High stakes here. If I wasn’t a good swimmer, this indecent proposal would make me uneasy. But I’m confident I can win. I’m not ready for what he was asking for and frankly, I don’t know if I’ll ever be, so I’ll make sure I win the race.
‘Okay,’ I say, in my cockiest voice. ‘I’m really looking forward to that picnic.’
‘Siiiii?’
‘Siiiii,’ I mimic.
‘No rules,’ he says.
‘None.’
‘Good,’ he says, his eyes twinkling.
‘Excellent!’
I clear my throat and say, ‘On your marks, get set …g …’
Suddenly, Diago grabs me, lifts me into the air and throws me behind him.
I’m like a beach ball in his hand and I land about twenty feet away. While I struggle to surface and catch my breath, he cruises to the finish line.
‘I wiiin!’
‘Diago! That was ... how do you ...? That’s not fair, Diago.’
‘No rules,’ he reminds me.
‘Aaaagh! You … but …that’s not how …shit! You’re such a cheat.’
I frown – the stakes are way too high.
‘What? What you thinking?’
I stare at the ground a moment, then look up. ‘When?’
He takes his time answering. ‘Soon,’ he finally whispers.
I leave it at that.
‘Come,’ he says, taking my hand. ‘I sure I can beat you at running too.’
Normally, I would say, ‘Game on!’ But today, I don’t dare.
‘If you shoot both my knee caps during the race – duh!’
He chuckles.